


i can't handle change

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Minor Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Same Age Anakin & Obi-Wan, Seduction to the Dark Side, Seduction to the Light Side, Sexual Tension, Sith Anakin Skywalker, The Force Ships It, Top Anakin Skywalker, but so is Anakin so it's cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The male's eyes were fierce pools of molten, reflective sapphires that demanded authority. He was entwined with Padmé, had ravenous arms circled around her waist, possessive and secure, but it was not she who he gazed at. No, while the woman fell apart prettily in his rough embrace, his gaze was locked with Obi-Wan's; dark and swirling with something far greater than what Obi-Wan wished to dwell on.His breath hitched and he willed himself to look away.or rather,The tale of how Obi-Wan and Anakin come together blindly, despite being sworn enemies in combat.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Vader, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 69
Kudos: 396





	1. the monster under my bed

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm pretty hyped for this story! It may be off to a slow start, but I promise you It'll get juicy ;)

Grains of ash fell from the crimson sky, like little gray snowflakes fluttering softly to the ground. The fresh scent of charred flesh clung to the surrounding air, a musky and most unpleasant fragrance to the typical nose. The night was young and the stars bright, but the sheer presence of the Force seemed to weep in agony.

And being the ever trained Force-user, Obi-Wan startled naturally at this and thrusted his eyelids open, only to be taken aback by a powerful, immense wave of pain. It hit him like a sharp sting, and he winced at the shocking ache that appeared behind his sockets.

“What in the name of the Force,” Obi-Wan croaked out, throat feeling strangely parched and drier than the sands of Tatooine. Which didn’t make any type of sense, considering he recalled having fallen asleep in a nice, warm bed, pain free.

From a quick survey of his surroundings, he picked up that everything around him was sweltering with heat--the ground beneath him tar-like and void of vegetation. There were pools of lava boiling nearby, bubbles of heat popping aggressively on the fiery surface. It was all mountainous plains of fire for as far as Obi-Wan’s eye could see. It was unlike any environment he’d seen before.

His palms scraped against nastily hot, blackened rocks as he pushed himself into a slightly propped up position.

The inferno of a scenery was most certainly not the Jedi Temple, nor anywhere near it. _Perhaps I’ve died and fallen to the dark side of the Force,_ Obi-Wan thought humorlessly, believing very much that the environment of fire and lava could be the incarnate of gloom.

 _Or maybe I was taken here without my awareness_. The second thought was much less unbelievable; one that he pushed aside for the sake of his own sanity.

Blearily, he shifted the arms propping his body up to further arrange himself into a more alert angle, which proved to be a mistake. Almost instantaneously, he felt as if a punch had been delivered to his chest and he’d burst a lung.

A pained grunt passed his lips and his anatomy groaned. He remained still for some moments past, and listened to the shaky inhale and exhale of his own breath.

His body’s incapacity to function was outlandish; never before had his muscles ached with such intensity.

Yet, he stubbornly began to rise to his feet anyways… Which of course consequently caused the entirety of his body to seize up. His limbs quivered from that slightest stimulation and his muscles threatened to cramp.

He squeezed his throbbing eyes shut and dug the heels of his palms into them, which in the process rubbed muck onto his cheek. Moving about was all so painful, it went against every instinct that screamed at him. The instinct of what? He didn’t know, for there was not a single scratch on his body.

His body had no right pretending to be so weak, it was absurd! Therefore, he didn’t allow himself the opportunity to cease.

The first steps he took forward, though, set his nerves on fire. His legs and core burnt so terribly that he had to glance down at his limbs to assure they weren’t _actually_ aflame.

He shook his head of filthy copper and glared forward. _Don’t think about it,_ Obi-Wan gritted to himself. 

After what seemed like five minutes of tiresome walking--trudging really--his knees began to shiver at their joints. They threatened to buckle and send him crashing towards his impending doom. But, they didn’t. 

He could tell that it was the will of the Force that kept him going for an inhuman amount of time and out of the face of true danger. (Again, what danger? He had no clue.)

However, when a specifically strong brush of wind came his way, sending in waves of searing heat that made his body flush, he stumbled gracelessly. He impacted onto a volcanic rock and let out a pained wheeze. His ears began to ring, and an ache radiated in his chest from the collision. He just barely maintained a curse from slipping between his gritted teeth.

So much for the will of the Force.

He tried to push away, in a helpless, trembling way; forehead pressed against the rock and little puffs escaping his parted lips. He had to keep going… But, there simply was not enough resilience left in his body to convince him to heave his body off the rock. Everything in his mind was getting completely dominated by anguish.

Then there came a voice.

_“Obi-Wan?”_

The call of his name was faint, almost not there; a mere weak brush through a bond. And it was difficult to hear against the roaring pulse in his ear, but he’d been able to identify it anyways.

Relief swelled in his chest and his body laxed against the rock. It appeared he wasn’t alone on this hellish excuse for a planet.

 _“Master,_ ” Obi-Wan practically sighed into their shared bond. “ _You can sense me._ ”

He pushed himself away from the boulder to in turn sag his back against it for support. Obi-Wan could feel their bond thrumming through the Force, a beacon of light in the darkness surrounding.

 _“Master,_ ” he called out again. “ _Where are you? I can feel that you’re near_.” He lifted his head and fluttered his eyes open, scanning the land before him caked in falling ash. It was still barren and lifeless and had no sign of Qui-Gon for as far as he could see. However, he could feel the yank through their Force-bond tempting him closer to the sea of lava.

Although, seconds passed and there came no response. Obi-Wan furrowed his brows in concern. 

He gingerly reached out to brush against Qui-Gon’s signature, testing the shields, and noticed that they felt significantly weaker than their natural, brilliant state. Obi-Wan jerked back, shocked by the discovery, and retracted back into his own mind. Relief was replaced by dismay. 

Qui-Gon was fading, rapidly.

“No…” he rasped out frightfully.

Obi-Wan compelled his fatigued muscles to cooperate, unsteadily leaving the comfort of his rocky companion. He had to get to his Master.

Once again, the first movements forwards were torture; everything stiff and far too sore. But, it was easier to ignore the pain with the fresh panic and adrenaline that coursed through his veins. He scurried his way down towards the lava bank where he could feel his Master’s presence grow, sliding down a hill of black. There was a second Force mark, a powerful and dark one, in the direction he’s moving towards that’s all but ignored in Obi-Wan’s distressed state.

“Master!” Obi-Wan called out, this time with his scratchy voice. The heat from the magma burned his front side as he skid down to the bay. He squinted his eyes against the offensively bright lava, able to just make out the form of a masculine body laid limp on the igneous rock.

He all but threw himself onto his knees when he reached Qui-Gon, hissing at the shock that traveled up through his nerves. 

He searched his master’s face with worry filled green-blue eyes. The older man had his eyes squeezed shut uncomfortably, lips parting ever the slightest to gasp for breath; his complexion ghastly. Qui-Gon appeared to be in intense, cruel pain.

“What has become of you,” Obi-Wan whispered shakily.

Obi-Wan’s hands twitched, wanting nothing more than to reach out and clutch his Master’s robes, to beg for him to open his eyes. He wished to cup the side of the man’s pale face, but refrained himself and kept his hands clenched tightly on his lap. 

His wary gaze flickered down, past the sweat drenched robes and heaving chest making the shallowest of air intakes. His breath caught at what he saw. There was a wound that Qui-Gon was clutching near the middle of his abdomen, slowly oozing red and spasming, burnt around the edges, flesh brown and blackened. It’s the mark of a wound he’s far too familiar with.

 _Only one weapon in existence has the ability to inflict such a wound_ , he breathed to himself.

Instinctively, Obi-Wan snapped his hand to his weapon belt where an alike weapon resided, but was met with nothing. His face went pale.

And as if summoned by his defensive movement, a presence appeared behind him, ominous and heavy. It was darker than any other presence he’d felt reside in the Force and it was _terrifying_. He stiffened, ready to pivot on his knees, use raw physical means protection, but wasn’t given the chance. A crimson, humming blade cried to life past his ear and hovered above the junction where his throat met his shoulder.

For a moment, Obi-Wan forgot how to breathe.

“You will remember this moment, Kenobi,” a deep, eerie voice murmured directly from behind him that was apparently familiar with his name. “You will remember how I took your Master’s life.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, unable to fight the cold wash of fear that spread through him. The lightsaber was terribly close to his vulnerable neck, almost grazing the shell of his ear and was radiating intensive heat. With one stroke of the saber, his throat and shoulder could be torn apart and he would fall.

He shivered at the thought.

“You will remember how you failed him, how you weren’t good enough,” the voice continued to taunt.

He inhaled a quivering breath, resisting the urge to refuse the cruel statement. His eyes flickered back down to Qui-Gon whose chest had ceased its movement. Overwhelming dread filled his heart and he nearly let out a broken sob.

“And you will remember how you had to suffer the same fate.”

The antagonist didn’t allow him the decency to process the meaning behind those words. Behind him, a swift movement was conducted and suddenly he was seeing white.

A searing agony ripped through his shoulder junction when the red, glowing blade pressed firmly against the surface of his flesh, sending thousands of shockwaves through his nerves simultaneously. It’s not deep enough to pierce, but wasn’t shallow enough to shrug off, and it _burned_. A cry of pure torture was ripped from his throat.

Blood rushed to Obi-Wan’s ears, and his vision started to blur. His body was on fire, the smell of burnt skin wafting through the air. His consciousness was barely able to hang on by a thread, body screaming that the pain was too much, too intense. He combated the temptation to succumb to rest though, through the will of the Force. With the remaining strength he had left, he managed a weak glance up at his aggressor. He twisted his head around, neck at an awkward angle. 

Dazed eyes met hardened ones. 

The man’s face was impassive, out of focus due to Obi-Wan’s loss of blood, but terribly cold. And his eyes were golden. Dark, maleficent gold; grotesquely beautiful.

“You will all be ended.”

He faintly heard before his vision went black and everything slipped away.

When he came to the next moment, gasping and slick in a pool of cold sweat, it’s in his familiar quarters. There’s no burning cinders, no lava, and no murderous stranger with sickening yellow eyes.

* * *

The vivid dream was all that was on his mind when Obi-Wan next awoke in the morning.

Sunlight was bleeding through his cheap window-blinds, and there’s a soft bed beneath his body; nothing threatening at all. But alas, the moment he gained consciousness, Obi-Wan seized up and imagined he was on a terrain of boiling lava. He kicked off the sheets as if they were alight with fire, heart pulsing wildly against the confines of his chest. His gaze tore through his surroundings, searched for a sign that he was back to reality, but only felt phantom heat charing his flesh.

There’s the mocking burn, a ghost of pain where that red saber had kissed his neck. The area was throbbing and stinging, electricity beneath his skin. He wanted to splash it with cool water.

Obi-Wan was craving the weight of his lightsaber, was seconds away from summoning it to his hand, when his chamber’s door slid open with a hiss. He instinctively tensed, hands curling up into tight balls, the Force thrumming around him warily. However, the man that stepped into his quarters was not a yellow-eyed dark user, but a Jedi with shaggy blond hair and peaceful crystal blue eyes.

Instantaneously, Obi-Wan felt stiffness leave his form.

“I was wondering when you would wake,” Qui-Gon started carefully, stepping through the entrance to their shared quarters. “It’s not like you to sleep past sunrise.”

Obi-Wan ran a slightly shivering hand through his coppery hair and relinquished a sigh. His heart was still pumping erratically as he did so. 

Everything was fine, he wasn’t in danger--he tried to tell himself. Qui-Gon wasn’t lying barely alive on tarred rock and he wasn’t getting slashed at the neck. He was in the Jedi Temple, one of the safest places in the galaxy.

He forced out a strangled laugh, poorly concealing his state of distress, “Indeed it isn’t. I’m afraid this wasn’t the most restful night for me.”

A crease formed between the Jedi Master’s brow. Qui-Gon, insightful as always, read right into the worry lines marring Obi-Wan’s face. “Is there something troubling you, Obi-Wan?” he asked calmly.

“Well, I suppose…” Obi-Wan began, trailing off to the memory of his dream. It had sparked such an incredible amount of terror within him. He had been ready to shake his Master’s shoulders to will him awake, had felt something akin to knife-twisting heart ache and loss. Which was in other words, a sign of attachment, and something deeply forbidden to Jedi. His grief and fear had been inappropriate. And even in his wake, he had found it difficult to control his intense emotions.

So slowly, he shook his head, “No, there’s nothing wrong Master, please do not worry over me. I simply had difficulties falling asleep.” Obi-Wan despised lying to Qui-Gon, but there was some half truth to his words.

A silence settled over them then, and Qui-Gon maintained his position in their room. It was a bit uncomfortable and Obi-Wan could feel the way his gaze drilled into his face, staring intently into his eyes. His Master was evidently searching for a sign of dishonesty, but Obi-Wan was able to keep his expression politely impassive.

Eventually, the Jedi Master expelled a faint breath, one Obi-Wan would dare say sounded amused. He settled his arms across his chest peaceably and delved deeper into the living-area. Qui-Gon was wearing that mysteriously supportive, yet reserved look on his face, features all understanding and full of wisdom.

“You can confide anything in me, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon added, ignoring Obi-Wan’s claim of ignorance.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to sigh. “I’m soon to be knighted and you still talk to me as though I’m a youngling,” his lips softly quirked up with bemusement for a momentary second. “I assure you that I’m perfectly fine. If there was something to be told, I would let you know.” Another lie (has he mentioned that he’s never been a particularly good liar?).

Qui-Gon flashed him a pointed look, a sharp little glance heavy with disbelief. It made Obi-Wan toy with his bottom lip agitatedly.

“I’m not enough of an old fool to believe you, but I relent,” the Jedi Master hummed. His mouth formed a tranquil smile, the inquisition slightly draining from his eyes. 

Qui-Gon was generously dropping the topic, but Obi-Wan had the faintest inkling that it didn’t mark the end of its importance.

“Now then, since you were so eloquent as to miss breakfast, the council is assigning us a new mission. I suggest you get dressed for the occasion,” Qui-Gon mirthfully gestured towards his disheveled appearance, night-robbed body surrounded in a flurry of sheets and hair a mess. 

Obi-Wan’s cheeks reddened, “I’ll ready myself shortly.”

* * *

When Obi-Wan stepped out of his chambers, he’s neatly dressed in semi-formal robes. His eyes are red-rimmed and there’s dark shadows beneath them, but he otherwise looked presentable.

He weaved his way through the vast, washed golden halls of the Jedi Temple, making his way upwards towards the council’s meeting room. Dirty sunlight was flitting in through the grand windows which he was forced to squint his eyes against, and every so often paused to rub his aching forehead. 

A deep-rooted headache was plaguing his head, one that was making him sensitive to too loud sounds and offensive rays of light. He assumed that it was the product of sleep deprivation and the afterthought of the dream still ingrained in his mind. And it’s truthfully rather bothersome, more of a nuisance than a pain, and wasn’t helping Obi-Wan find peace in the Force. 

But he trekked on anyways, the borderline-migraine be damned.

The journey to his destination was not a very distant one, really just a few twists and upward turns away, so he reached the entrance hall of the Jedi Council’s room swiftly enough. And when Obi-Wan came into view of the electronically powered doors, he was unsurprised to discover Qui-Gon waiting outside them with a patient but not so patient look. The older’s arms were crossed firmly against his chest and his chin was tipped up high. When their eyes met, Obi-Wan found himself glancing away a bit abashedly.

Right, it’s because of him that they’d managed to keep the Council waiting.

“Well now,” Qui-Gon announced a tad bit loudly, causing Obi-Wan’s aching head to pulse and spine to straighten itself. “Best not to keep them waiting any longer.”

“Of course, Master,” Obi-Wan murmured quietly, fiddling with the long sleeves of his robes. Qui-Gon gave him one last long, cryptic stare before he slid the Council’s doors open wide.

The small talk that had been evidently occurring between the Jedi Masters ceased when the two of them stepped inside. Their wise, aged faces went stoic and their attention shifted onto the Master-Padawan duo. 

Their gazes were critical, analytical and made Obi-Wan want to slink behind his Master and shy away from confrontation. He didn’t wish to be the subject of attention.

However, Qui-Gon didn’t seem to share his sentiment.

“Forgive our tardiness Masters, my Padawan slept past my initial wake up call,” Qui-Gon stated apologetically, having the decency to appear remorseful. While Obi-Wan, on the other hand, barely controlled his expression from contorting into one of betrayal--unsurprised but still offended at his Master’s willingness to give away his lateness.

A burning shame washed over his body, and he swallowed around a lump that surfaced in his throat.

“I’m woefully sorry Masters, my behavior is inexcusable.” His back bent into a courteous bow and he dropped his gaze to the Council’s floor.

“Unlike you, this is, Padawan Kenobi,” Yoda hummed thoughtfully, but not bitterly.

Obi-Wan flitted his gaze back up hesitantly and nodded. He’s slower to release himself from his spine’s downward curl. “Indeed, Master Yoda. I wouldn’t hear the end of it this morning from my Master,” he spared a glance at Qui-Gon who had the audacity to appear amused from his inner torment. He deserves it, he supposed.

“And rightfully so. Your knighting is being decided and neglecting your responsibilities is not the most promising sight to see,” Mace Windu’s voice sliced through the air with an icy burn, his brown eyes narrowed disappointedly. Per usual, he was the most unforgiving individual in the room. 

And his statement was harsh; harsh enough to squeeze Obi-Wan’s heart and ignite another wave of shame.

“I understand Master, and I can assure you it will not happen again,” Obi-Wan said, and he meant it. He did not intend to disappoint the Council again due to something as simple as a dream.

“We expect no less from you,” Windu replied coolly.

And on that note, the room fell into a momentary hush in what Obi-Wan hoped marked the end of his chiding. He felt quite stiff from the knit-pickiness focused on his flaw; like a youngling being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

However, the silence didn’t last for long, as Qui-Gon cleared his throat not so subtly. The Council stirred back to life and Yoda was the one to resume their dialogue.

“Not the purpose we met, this is. Though entertaining, Padawan Kenobi’s discomfort is. Discuss their objective, we must,” Yoda grumbled, fiddling with the walking-staff between his hands. Obi-Wan allowed himself a carefully concealed sigh of relief.

The Council made no move to protest, so the aged Jedi went on to address his Master, gaze growing with intensity.

“Trouble there is in Canto Bight, greater than gambling. Seperalist meeting there is rumored to be, dangerous weapons they will exchange. Intervention, your duty is,” Yoda informd the pair gravely. 

That caught Obi-Wan’s interest, and his head perked up. Now that was an assignment that sounded appealing, very much unlike the ones they’d completed recently involving draining politics. His hand came up to stroke his smooth chin thoughtfully. 

“Very well,” Qui-Gon said beside him, voice sounding equally intrigued, though tainted with the hint of something else. “And who can we expect to meet?”

“We have no information regarding the ranks attending this meeting. It could very well be a trap,” Windu responded stiffly. “So I strongly advise that you use caution.”

“I understand, we will proceed with caution as you suggest,” Qui-Gon affirmed.

Qui-Gon bowed his head respectfully and Obi-Wan mimicked the action.

“We will set our course for Canto Bight at once.”

* * *

“I can’t recall, have we ever been to Cantonica alongside each other, Obi-Wan?”

The man in question was otherwise occupied, busying himself with setting the ship’s coordinates. Though, at the call of his name, he paused in typing the digits, hovering over the controls. 

A half-smile grew on his face.

“No, I don’t believe we have, Master. The last time we spoke of Cantonica, I think you called it a ‘no good, useless planet packed with idiocracy,’” Obi-Wan replied amusedly.

Although he’d never been on the planet personally, he had heard plenty of it’s reputation, primarily from his Master. Supposedly, it’s notorious for homing some of the most ruthless gamblers and menacing crime-lords. It honestly surprised him that they had never had a mission on Cantonica until now.

“Right… Well it certainly is thriving with stupidity. I can’t stand the whole of the place,” Qui-Gon grumbled, making distant noise within their fighter. 

He came to stand beside Obi-Wan, gazing over his shoulders as he worked on punching the coordinates in.

“You have mentioned that a few times, yes,” Obi-Wan twisted his neck to flash the Jedi Master a mirthful look. His Master met his entertained gaze straight on, revealing nothing but further irritation. Obi-Wan almost snorted at the sight.

He found it humorous when Qui-Gon expressed the rare bit of true vexation. The man was incredibly serene, but had begun to drop his guard over the years, becoming more expressive with Obi-Wan in some ways. Deep down, he felt pleased with that fact.

“Did something happen on Cantonica? You don’t usually speak spitefully of planets, besides Hoth that is, but nobody is overly fond of Hoth,” Obi-Wan inquired, genuinely curious but still bemused.

However, the reaction he received is not the one he’d expected.

There was an obvious flash of something that passed over Qui-Gon’s face; like the remembrance of a memory. The man got a twist between his brow and stared off at nothing in particular. His Master appeared contemplative, troubled nearly, but kept his mouth shut firmly. He only offered the slow shake of the head.

“Nothing of significance,” Qui-Gon said ultimately, arms crossing against himself in a defensive manner. The words didn’t match the uneasiness dancing in his stormy eyes.

Obi-Wan’s smile loses a fragment of its shine, lips inching down. Definitely not the response he’d hoped for.

Awkward tension took hold of the atmosphere and he wonders if he’s said something wrong.

“Well, if you’re done putting in the coordinates, we should get along our way.” the Jedi Master turned away from Obi-Wan tersely, and went to claim the position of the co-pilot seat.

Obi-Wan felt angst squirm uncomfortably against the walls of his stomach. It seemed that he had crossed an invisible line where it’s usually okay to poke fun.

With a short sigh, he backed away from the directional machine and lowered himself carefully into the worst seat of the house: the space-flyer’s seat.

He spared a look over to Qui-Gon, who has an everlasting thoughtful gaze. In attempt to relieve the stiffness, Obi-Wan gave the older man a gentle smile that easily reached his eyes.

“I’ll assure our journey is a safe and peaceful one, Master.”

Fortunately, that evoked a positive thrum in the Force. His Master glanced at him with understanding eyes and murmured, “You always make it so.” 

Contented by Qui-Gon’s subtle praise and the swell it caused in his chest, Obi-Wan turned his full attention forward. His hand felt for the lever that controls hyperdrive and pressed forward with care, propelling them into the expeditious dimension of fast-travel.


	2. an unexpected guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mission failed, we'll get em next time

They arrived on Cantonica four nights later.

Obi-Wan gazed out the side-window of the Jedi Fighter, peering down at the radiant city that was Canto Bight. It was his first time seeing the metropolitan in all its esteemed glory, and he found that it met none of his expectations. From the way his Master had spoken of it venomously, he’d half been anticipating a slum. However, even at their significant distance away from it--ship stationed on the outskirts of the city--he felt taken aback by its industrial beauty. 

The buildings formed what looked like a landscape of twinkling stars, with ocean waves kissing their sides attractively. Their mission was one not one that included sight-seeing, but he found himself enjoying the scenery either way.

Raising an eyebrow, impressed, Obi-wan glanced over to Qui-Gon who stood beside him. He wanted to express his admiration, to inquire some questions about the place, but found the man’s reaction to the city was quite the opposite of his own--his lips pressed firmly together in a grimace as he looked through the window.

Obi-Wan sighed. Of course his Master was still in a disposition.

“I would be most reassured if you shared your feelings about this poor planet with me, Master,” he stated rather bluntly, turning away from the window to face the man. During their four days of travel time, he had grown rather tired of Qui-Gon’s constant sulking. At first, he’d attempted to be sympathetic, but the other’s refusal to lower his shields and share his thoughts had gradually became a nuisance. His patience was fried.

Qui-Gon tilted his head down, angst gracing his features.

“It’s not my feelings that worry me, it’s just something out of my control,” Qui-Gon exhaled, sounding exhausted.

Well that was quite obvious, Obi-Wan thought, barely containing an eye roll, and it was quite the prevalent issue.

“Master, as your dear Padawan, I am requesting you to tell me what’s the matter. I don’t not care if it’s gruesome or inappropriate, but I feel the need to know…” he paused, lips pulling down. “Because if it will affect the integrity of our mission--”

“It won’t,” Qui-Gon cut him off hurriedly.

“Can you assure that?” he met Qui-Gon’s sharp glance down at him evenly. It was not much like Obi-Wan to challenge his Master, but again, his tolerance was thinned.

The Jedi stifled what sounded like an exasperated groan.

“There is much you don’t know about this assignment.” he spoke slowly, carefully, and Obi-Wan parted his lips as if to protest, but got silenced by the raise of Qui-Gon’s hand that requested his silence. “In regards to the informant, that is.”

Obi-Wan scrunched his eyebrows confusedly, unsure of how that was relevant to him.

“The informant is of little importance to us, I’m not sure I understand,” he replied perplexedly.

Qui-Gon’s shoulders shook with light laughter then, his form vibrating with the hearty sound. He clasped a hand over his forehead, and the movement irked Obi-Wan somehow.

“Allow me to elaborate,” Qui-Gon murmured, rubbing at his temples. “The informant is a native Cantonican, a fair lady of high rank who I happen to have relations with. She may be as much of a criminal as most of the residents, but she’s fiercely loyal to the Republic. So, when she heard the rumor of a Seperatist meeting, she’d contacted the Council at once. However, she specifically requested that it was I who acted on this case,” Qui-Gon explained in short, as if he expected a lightbulb to go off in Obi-Wan’s mind.

However, Obi-Wan just stared at the man with a bizarre expression.

“That is a heartwarming story, truly, but I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Qui-Gon cleared his throat and scratched the side of his cheek where the faintest bit of color was beginning to appear. “She and I, our relations are not strictly formal.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, gears cranking, and suddenly it clicked.

Oh... 

_Oh_.

It was _that_ type of relation.

“So if I understand correctly,” Obi-Wan started carefully, selecting his words wisely. “The woman we are to meet--or I suppose _I’m_ supposed to, since you two are already acquainted--has seen more of you than I’d ever care to imagine.” the statement came out contemplatively, as if the thought in it of itself was hard to imagine, which it was.

Qui-Gon exhaled a pained grunt through his teeth. By the name of the Force, the man’s complexion was nearly flushed red, which was sincerely, an anomaly.

“That is one way to put it, yes,” the Jedi hummed like he expected his voice to sound completely composed.

A slow quip curled Obi-Wan’s lips upwards.

“Well do not fret, Master, I assure you that I’ll defend your trial with the Council,” Obi-Wan replied empathetically, faux seriousness vibrant in his eyes. What an oddity it was to discover his Master’s animosity for the planet regarded the simplicity of casual sleeping around. Which was, of course, frowned upon by the Jedi, but not completely forbidden or unheard of. Personally, he would never dream of partaking in such relationships, but did not think any less of his Master for having indulged himself.

“It’s nothing like that, Padawan,” Qui-Gon hurriedly said. Obi-Wan grinned at him knowingly.

“Force give me strength, may we please shift our focus onto the more important matter at hand?”

“Why of course.”

Silence filled the room, but the cheeky Padawan couldn’t help himself.

“What is she like?”

“Obi-Wan, _please_.”

He chuckled, “Alright, alright, I relent.”

* * *

Walking into Canto Bight’s famed destination, Canto Casino, was like entering a fool’s paradise. 

The entirety of the place was crawling with gambling-obsessed beings, whose eyes were glazed with dopamine. It stunk of desperation, filthy greed, and sorrow, but was still ever pleasing to the naked eye, with glitzy chandeliers hanging from a ceiling painted in gold.

It was much like the rest of the city, Obi-Wan noted, which he’d quickly discovered was painted beautifully to tourists and a burning, hot mess in in reality--a place of ramped law-breaking in every sense of the word, the casino being no exception.

Because as it was, the customers who weren’t drooling over playing cards and betting their life away, had threats layered in their eyes. They wore scowling faces, had scarred bodies, and exposed weapons on their hilt--felons, by the looks of it, and had had their eyes on the Master-Padawan duo intently since they’d entered the casino. It really was rather impolite.

Obi-Wan tried his best to avoid the hot gazes looking over him, toying with the tight, white fabric around his neck somewhat uncomfortably. He had changed into something a bit more proper for the establishment--clean, nicely trimmed white and tan robes--had done his best to appear unsuspicious, but was evidently failing. Perhaps no amount of formal attire could sway attention away from the lightsaber attached at his hip.

The beady eyes seemed to focus on the offending weapon, and slowly came up to snarl at his face. It was no little known fact that Jedi did not endorse infringement, but his audience could at least have the decency to not glare so openly.

He almost felt himself develop a look of challenge, to hold his chin high, but was interrupted in the act.

“ _There_ ,” his Master suddenly murmured through their bond, startling Obi-Wan’s stare-off. “ _There’s the informant_.”

Obi-Wan blinked and tore his eyes away from the misfits, reminded of their purpose. He nodded stiffly and swiftly reorganized his thoughts, blue-green eyes narrowing.

He followed Qui-Gon’s line of sight, past the poker tables and towards the back, where he caught the view of a feminine figure leaning against one of the establishment’s supportive beams. The woman was visually lovely. She had fine white hair slicked back into a strict bun; her body fitted in a flattering emerald green dress. Expensive jewelry graced her slim neck and her chin was tilted up in a show of superiority. She looked ever so refined, for an outlaw.

“ _I’ll say, Master, she is quite a charming sight_ ,” Obi-Wan mused teasingly.

Their bond pulsed chidingly, and slightly with embarrassment. “ _If you wish to torture me, do so later. I believe we have a meeting to crash, after all._ ”

“ _You are absolutely correct_ ,” he affirmed, feeling bemused.

The pair fell into silence then, and casually made their way through the thick-bodied crowd to where the lady stood. They approached her with the intention of being subtle, muttering apologizes to those they brushed against.

However, when they’d just about reached her, the woman chose that moment to lift her head curiously and take a look around. Quite quickly, her gaze fell upon Qui-Gon’s nearing figure. The recognition that registered across her face was instantaneous. Her eyes widened, as if surprised, and she pushed away from the column. 

She sauntered to meet them the rest of the way. Beside him, Qui-Gon cleared his throat uneasily; a rough sound.

“You boys sure took your sweet time,” she said, stopping to stand in front of them. There was a half grin on her face and her voice was heavily accented in a Cantonican drawl. “It’s not like you, you’re usually keen on upholding your promises properly.” She addressed the older Jedi, gazing up at him under heavy lashes.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Helena,” Qui-Gon murmured, taking one step forward past the line of just-friendly. “We were delayed in being told about this mission.” The developing lump in his throat bobbed with interest. 

The woman--Helena--hummed, flickering her eyes up and down the man. “Well, I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow.”

The insinuation made Obi-Wan want to gag.

“The Separatists,” he rushed out, snuffing out the tension before it had the chance to grow any thicker. “Where are they, are you aware of where they’re meeting?” Watching his Master flirt was a horrendous, scarring thing; one he wished to make fun of later, but not experience.

And Qui-Gon seemed reluctant to support his question, eyes swirling with something dark and sultry, but he relented. The man straightened his posture, face going somewhat impassive; ever the strong Jedi. Helena though, looked peeved at the change of subject and gave him a sour expression.

She probably hadn’t bothered considering Obi-Wan as a valid presence in their conversation.

“We can get to my apology at a later time. For now, we do need your information,” Qui-Gon murmured sorrowfully, and Helena was of course more than willing to comply to his wishes.

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed, composing herself ever the slightest, if it was possible for such a woman. “The person you’re looking for is over there.

“Past a group of Twi’lek dancers, towards the end of that long bar, you should see a man with a blue and silver Mandalorian helmet seated next to a cloaked man,” Helena explained, jerking her head towards the populated area of the bar.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, searching for the couple that met the woman’s description. His gaze passed the sensual dancers and sure enough, there were two men with those exact appearances, leaning in close over a table. They appeared to be speaking in hushed voices, from the posture they were in. A very suspicious stance indeed.

“His name is Jango Fett, and you’d do well to remember that. He’s a highly regarded bounty hunter and a special tool for the Separatists.” 

Obi-Wan frowned. The name sounded awfully familiar, but it didn’t ring any specific bells. Even so, he knew better than to underestimate the skills of trained bounty hunters; they were incredible combatants, though not usually gifted with the Force.

Helena continued.

“As you probably already know, he’s here for an extremely illegal material, one we can assume is for some type of weapon,” she said, her voice twisting with malice.

So it was a material they were to stop from being exchanged, not a direct weapon itself. That would be all the more easier to acquire.

There was a pause, and the two Jedi turned to stare at the bounty hunter contemplatively. 

From a far away view, he didn’t look all that impressive, not that different from any other Mandalorian. Although, there was a certain atmosphere of authority radiating from his posture, one that warned he should not be taken for granted.

They swiveled back around, away from the antagonist.

“Thank you Helena, you have helped us greatly,” Qui-Gon said sincerely, flashing the woman a smile of warmth. “We will take care of the situation from here.”

“You better, I’ll be waiting for that apology, Master Jinn,” she murmured sulturily and Obi-Wan really felt like he was going to toss up his latest meal.

Qui-Gon gave her a last longing stare before turning to address his sickened Padawan, “We’d better get moving then--”

However, when the Jedi Master spun back around to assess the bounty hunter further, he was no longer there. The seat across from the cloaked man was empty, as if the man had vanished into thin air.

“For Force sake…” Qui-Gon sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Nothing was ever easy, was it?

“What should we do, Master?” Obi-Wan questioned hurriedly, hand twitching towards his seathed lightsaber.

“We must find him, we cannot allow him to leave with that material. You go search through the hotel, I’ll check the staff quarters.”

* * *

The interior of the casino’s hotel lobby was just as spectacular, if not more so, than its gambling counterpart. Although, much unlike the casino, it held an air of refinement. Its floors were glossy and reflective, enough that one could fix their hair, tiled intricately with gold and black, and had stunning botany that sat upon fine pottery throughout the halls.

However, for Obi-Wan it’s spectacularity was wasted, as he swiftly maneuvered his way through crowds dressed in formal attire; the decor nothing but a blur of color. The throng of hotel-stayers was thick and difficult to squeeze past, terribly disorientating, and took many apologizes to work around.

His bluish-green eyes darted every which way, searching over each Mandalorian helmet that caught his field of vision--which wasn’t many. He saw black on red, gold on silver, and purple on gray, but none with the combination of blue and silver. Impatience clouded his eyes and pulled his lips down into a frown.

It was far too easy for a single man to blend into the swarm of people around him.

Peeved, he stood in place momentarily, much to the irritation of bypassers, trying to determine a method of approach, when the weight of a heavy presence appeared from behind. His focus was disrupted, shoulders shivering, and he whipped his head around, disturbed. The presence he felt was an odd one, icy and bleak, and almost appeared to have stroked his Force shields with a curiously familiar hand--not in a benevolent way. However, when he gazed behind him, there was nobody there.

His eyes narrowed sceptically.

Perhaps it had been the bounty hunter (which didn’t make sense when he thought about it, but had been the most reassuring conclusion at the time).

Cursing privately to himself, Obi-Wan further increased his speed and drew on the force to laser in his focus on blue and silver. His perception of hues narrowed and the rest of the colors grew dull and out of focus.

It was much easier to search this way, not being distracted by the vibrant of bold pigments surrounding, with only thoughts of _blueandsilverblueandsilver_ resonating throughout his brain. However, it took an intense amount of focus to maintain, and was all broken off when his comm stirred to life.

“ _I’ve found the target Obi-Wan, I’m now in pursuit_.”

Bright colors immediately invaded his vision, and Obi-Wan winced at their ferocity. He touched the communication device in his ear, murmuring back, “Understood, what is your current position, Master?”

Static crackled on the other end, which sounded like muffled panting. The response was delayed but came, “ _The back of the ballroom, in the staff’s dwellings… The bounty hunter is fast, please do hurry_.”

“Of course, I’m on my way,” Obi-Wan affirmed and disconnected his comm for the moment being, standing on the tips of his toes to search for any specific room labeled ‘ballroom.’ He was unsuccessful and had to resort to asking an employee where the ballroom was. As it turned out, there was apparently three ballrooms in the entirety of the establishment, which Qui-Gon had failed to mention.

Bringing the comm back to life, Obi-Wan quickly questioned, “Which ballroom are you in, there’s three located in the hotel.”

There was another delay.

“I’m unsure,” the Jedi Master sounded winded, breathing harsh. “The staff rooms all look the same behind here, it could be any of them.”

Well that was just exceedingly helpful, Obi-Wan thought to himself dryly.

He held back the temptation to sigh and headed for the ballroom located on the first floor, at the end of a long, dimly lit hallway. 

The doors were heavy when he pushed on them, grand and attractively designed--opening up to a starkly empty room with not a piece of furniture gracing its floors. 

His footsteps echoed as he stepped inside, against the room’s high ceiling and vast walls. The area was impressive, one of the most spacious rooms he’d ever been in; the perfect place for a battle, if it had to come down to that.

He wandered a bit about, with some hast in his stride, and eventually came along an entrance labeled ‘staff only.’ If it was the correct ballroom, his Master should be awaiting his arrival behind it. He sharpened his gaze determinably. He tugged on the door-handle roughly, and was of course met with resistance. The door, evidently, was locked. 

Obi-Wan grinned bemusedly, tutting the entrance for assuming it had the authority to shut out a Jedi.

Carefully, he drew on the Force, sucked in enough energy that should be able to push the door down with ease, but got interrupted in the motion.

From somewhere nearby, there was a heavy bang, the door which he’d used to enter the ballroom falling definitively shut.

The air grew heavy around him and that mysterious presence from earlier reappeared.

“I always assumed you Jedi would be more perceptive,” a mechanically modified voice called from across the room, raspy and flat. Obi-Wan froze. 

That was a distinctive statement that only an enemy would use, and in this context could only mean one thing. There was another Separatist and the bounty hunter had not come alone.

Naturally, he should have known there’d be more than one antagonist. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away from the staff door to look over at the stranger.

And at his full exposure, there seemed to be discovery, because the man added degradingly, “Or maybe this is acceptable behavior for a Padawan, like yourself.”

Obi-Wan nearly scoffed.

The newcomer had a specific aura of confidence about him. He wore fitted robes of black, ones that clung to his figure snuggly and displayed the strength of defined muscles--had a gloomy, dark cloak pooled around his feet. And most notably, had on a broad, black mask that was seemingly disproportionate to the rest of his build, but disturbing nonetheless. 

Obi-Wan smiled, thin-lipped, and rested his hand casually against the metal handle of his saber. “That’s quite bold, coming from someone who bothered showing up late to the party.”

The opposer stiffened, in what Obi-Wan assumed was a glare; he couldn’t be sure with the way the mask hid his expression. 

“No, you’re exactly where I want you to be.” 

In a movement almost too swift for the eye to catch, the antagonist brought a crimson blade screaming to life beside him.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to grow tense. He glowered at the lightsaber, how it glinted aggressively against the glossy floor, in a color considered forbidden and disgraceful to the Jedi. He then lifted his gaze up to where the man’s eyes should be and ignited his own saber with a bright, hopeful blue.

“So you’re one of those famed Sith I keep hearing about,” Obi-Wan mused, tone hardened. “I must say, I didn’t take you at all for the modest type, but I understand not all of us are gifted with attractive features,” his muscles rung tight and he resumed a defensive stance.

A spark of annoyance spread through the nearby Force.

The Sith started to stalk up to him, rounding about him like a predator would a prey. His grip was tight on the hilt of his saber. “You know nothing about me, ignorant Padawan.”

Obi-Wan followed the man’s movements carefully out of the corner of his eye. The beginnings of a clever grin quipped the corners of his lips up, “Sensitive too, I suppose.”

That earned him his first assault. The Sith launched himself forwards, with a bought of fury, slashing one stroke of his red blade towards Obi-Wan’s left shoulder which he effortlessly defended against. Blue met scarlet and sparks flew.

They locked eyes, or would’ve if the man’s eyes were visible, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help the impatience that flared through his veins.

The two of them then began to circle each other in an odd sort of dance. Obi-Wan’s kept his saber held high, high enough that it would block upper body strikes, and low enough to defend his torso. And the Sith did the same, though stood more open and moved around him with arrogance in his stride.

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow, as if to say ‘your move’ and readily blocked against the vibrating blade when it came slamming towards his face. He grunted from the sheer aggression in the attack, steadily holding his lightsaber as the Sith bared his own down on it. The heat from their two sabers was intense, and glared off his eyes in a lightshow of blue-red.

A breathless chuckle passed Obi-Wan’s lips, “Not one for pleasantries, are you?” The Sith’s blade pressed down again, harder, before he yielded and broke away. Distance was gained between them, but didn’t last long.

The Sith tauntingly took a step forwards, which Obi-Wan retaliated by taking one back, “What’s the point of that if I’m going to kill you either way?”

“How disgraceful, but nothing I’d expect less from a dark-sider,” Obi-Wan shook his head as if disappointed in the response.

The Sith slashed towards Obi-Wan’s knees, suddenly, and the Padawan jerked, jumping over the blade and propelling himself backwards. Another strike was aimed for his torso, to which Obi-Wan had to raise his saber up just in time in order to avoid getting his intestines spilt.

Obi-Wan fought off strokes made to his right arm, neck, and stomach again, and parted his mouth to pant.

The attacks were powerful and terribly violent, thought not sloppy like you’d expect them to be. The control he had was remarkable, a worthy opponent indeed… But not the reason Obi-Wan was here. His purpose lied elsewhere--he needed to meet up with his Master and complete their mission.

It was with that thought in mind that he was thrown off guard.

A particularly harsh, speedy thrust towards his clavicle, made its mark, and Obi-Wan felt his skin tear and burn. He hissed, skidding away a significant distance away from the antagonist. The flesh throbbed, vibrant pink and exposed.

“You’re distracted,” the Sith observed, twirling his crimson lightsaber in hand casually. “Even while you’re here, getting pathetically beaten by me, you’re worrying about your foolish assignment.”

Obi-Wan heaved out a breathless chuckle, rolling his stinging shoulder. He readjusted the hold on his saber and held it vertically to meet his eye level. “I am terribly sorry, you’re nothing but a mere side objective to me, Sith.” With the guileful tilt of his head, this time he made the first move.

Fine, if the Sith wanted a fight, then he’d give him a proper fight. He dashed forwards and swung his lightsaber sharply.

His attacks were precise and swift, held the grace that most Jedi were gifted with. Where the Sith was brutal, he was lithe and feline-like, making strikes with the intention to incapacitate, not to murder in cold blood. Their lightsabers crashed together in a symphony of dark versus light, though the Sith’s movements were a bit more tense, as if not particularly pleased with being on the defense.

The lower end of his neck was aflame, winced with every stroke Obi-Wan made, but was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Obi-Wan made a specifically precise slash, one that connected ever so faintly. The Sith let out a near impossible to hear snarl and aggressively shoved away his blue-blade when it brushed against his left arm. Wrath rippled off of him in waves. 

That was Obi-Wan’s cue to resume his defensive stance.

He twirled his saber so that it was raised above his head, a classic position which he’d come to like very much, and anticipated an assault. And boy did the assault come quick, but not in the form of a lightsaber, but in the form of a harsh kick. The Sith’s foot jerked up and violently impacted against his chest, dutifully knocking all the air out of his lungs.

Obi-Wan stumbled backwards and let out a pained wheeze.

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” the Sith breathed out mechanically, sounding pleased. Obi-Wan could imagine the smirk hidden behind his mask, the cheeky git.

“That was quite unnecessary,” Obi-Wan panted. “Can we not remain civilized?”

“And ruin the fun? Never.”

Obi-Wan almost smiled at that, _almost_.

Like the cliche enemies they were, they rushed towards each other once again, seemingly prepared to meet in the middle with a fresh bought of fire, but failed to collide equally. Obi-Wan’s comm crackled, and his approach faltered.

“ _I have obtained the material, Obi-Wan. Return to the ship at once_.” Qui-Gon’s voice rang in his ear, strained and incredibly tense.

“I’m a bit preoccupied, Master,” Obi-Wan bit out, finding himself unfairly pinned in place by that vibrating red blade.

“ _At this moment, I wouldn’t care if you were getting eaten by a pack of Nexu, we must go_!”

Grinding his teeth together, Obi-Wan huffed. Perfect timing, as always.

Mustering all the strength remaining in his muscles, he threw the Sith’s saber off against his own, dutifully successful. The antagonist was forced back some significant distance, but didn’t seem all that phased, and immediately went to approach him again. Obi-wan, however, started his retreat towards the ballroom’s entrance door quickly.

“I’m afraid our duel must be cut short, Sith,” he called out, sheathing his lightsaber down.

“As if I’d give you the chance to escape, Padawan,” the Sith retaliated.

“Actually, I believe you will.”

When the Sith grew close enough to give him the advantage, Obi-Wan made his move. Hurriedly, he used the Force to pull the man forward, so that they were almost toe-to-toe, while subtly reaching down into the pocket of his robes. Their chests knocked against each other’s, and Obi-Wan’s nose nearly brushed the skin of the other’s neck; they both grunted. Through the man’s voice-modifier, he could’ve sworn he heard the eruption of an animalistic growl. Heat spread to Obi-Wan’s face.

“Terribly sorry for this,” Obi-Wan said, voice strained and breathless. He didn’t give the Sith the opportunity to respond and pulled the trigger to his emergency stun blaster, aiming directly at the Sith’s thigh. It met its target straight-on, the lack of proximity between them making it so, and the man’s body slumped to the floor instantaneously.

Swallowing, Obi-Wan informed his Master tensely, “I’m on my way.”

* * *

Obi-Wan reached the fighter shortly, out of breath from his hurry, and was blasted off into the vacuum of space soon after.

It was only when he took a seat beside his Master, wounds tended to and muscles lax, that the man mumbled, “Half… We only got half of the material.”

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands and sighed for what felt like a century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⠀________  
> ⠀⠀┊ ┊ ┊  
> ⠀⠀┊ ┊ ┊  
> ⠀⠀┊ ┊ ✫  
> ⠀⠀┊ ⊹ ⋆  
> ⠀⠀┊. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
> ⠀⠀✧ ⠀  
> This chapter was an absolute joy to write! I had so much fun writing the interaction (duel) between Obi-Wan and masked Anakin. I was going to make it more intense, but I thought it’d be more enjoyable to include some good ol’ banter. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> As always, comments and bookmarks are greatly appreciated <3


	3. the arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the main plot begins.

Anakin gazed into the wash-room mirror of his quarters intently, furrow set between his brow, staring deep into his golden tinted eyes. They took the place of his usual stormy-blue orbs--were not a particularly flattering hue, surrounded by a ring of bloody flames, and held a loathe that was overwhelming.

They were monstrous, demonic in nature and looked exactly like what one would expect a Sith’s defining traits to be: repulsive and threatening. He found that they perfectly displayed the rage boiling inside his chest.

A frown quirked his lips down. 

These grossly yellow eyes were the result of the resentment he felt from his first lost battle, against a simple Padawan learner. A Padawan who should have been easy to defeat, when up against a skill set such as his own.

“ _T_ _erribly sorry for this_.”

Anakin’s fingers came to grip the edge of the sink vicely, yellow eyes pulsing viciously in their abnormal color.

That Padawan had been too clever for his own good, had practically treated Anakin like nothing more than a nuisance. He had spoken down to him, like one would to a kriffing _child_. And then he’d had the nerve to stun him of all things. 

His thigh wound pulsed mockingly; he snarled.

It was thanks to that Padawan that he’d received a very thorough punishment from his Master. One which he deserved, for being so incompetent, but nevertheless loathed. If he’d been able to strike that Jedi apprentice down and watch him bleed out, slowly, then his body wouldn’t be trembling from the aftershocks of torturous lightning. 

The sheer thought of the Padawan bleeding out made the corner of his lips quirk up.

Yes, that’d be nice, he wished nothing more than for that Padawan to suffer greatly. He wanted to wrap the force around the boy’s neck and squeeze till the life left his pure blue-green eyes--watch his face contort into deep pain. He wanted to burn his flesh off with his saber, Anakin wanted to--

_Ginger hair, expressive blue-green eyes, lean build._

Anakin’s nostrils flared, his left hand shivering. He brought that hand up aggressively to run through his messy locks of hair.

He would find that senseless Padawan and watch him die, _screaming_ … But for now, he had a Senator to attend to.

* * *

Obi-Wan sneezed and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight, making the tea in his hand jostle dangerously. An ominous wave rippled through the Force, cold and furious; he shivered at it.

Why did it feel like someone had just said his name?

From across their makeshift breakfast table, Qui-Gon eyed him with mild concern. “Are you alright?”

Sniffling confusedly, he nodded. “Probably just some dust in the air, nothing to worry about.” He brought the tea to the edge of his lips and inhaled deeply, letting the scent warm his thoughts.

Obi-Wan took a slight sip, and Qui-Gon mimicked the action with his own beverage. 

The sound of tea-sipping easily replaced the conversation, leaving awkwardness to fill in the gaps of silence.

It was a familiar silence—had been like this since the previous night, when they’d narrowly made their escape from Canto Bight with a fuming bounty hunter on their tails. It had been like this since Qui-Gon had admitted they’d only acquired half the material, and Obi-Wan had blurted out that he’d met the quote “strangest Sith you’d ever see.” At his outburst, a few select words had been thrown from either side, both with disbelief and intense worry. However, Obi-Wan was inclined to infer that his news of a brand new Sith sighting topped Qui-Gon’s failed acquisition. That is, if Qui-Gon’s concern-masked fury meant anything.

The Jedi had been awe-struck, more vivid and alive with anxiety than ever before. He’d demanded if Obi-Wan had been hurt, and the Padawan had shown his grazed clavicle, to which Qui-Gon looked pained to see. After patching up the wound with bacta-patches, they’d stayed quiet for the rest of the night, and now, the morning.

It was a weight hanging over both of their heads, and Obi-Wan was determined to bring it down.

“So, the Sith I encountered,” Obi-Wan began cautiously, measuring his Master’s response.

The man tensed visibly and his hand curled tightly around his tea cup, but his gaze lifted up calmly.

Obi-Wan took that as a sign to continue, “He was extremely skilled with his saber, and although he didn’t use the Force, I could sense he was deeply connected with it.”

Qui-Gon took another swig, staying mute.

Sighing, Obi-Wan added, “I couldn’t avoid confronting him Master, you must understand this,” a misplaced grin set on his lips. “Besides, I had the situation perfectly under control, the Sith was quite emotionally unstable--sloppy, you could say.”

The Jedi across from Obi-Wan set down his tea and leaned forward. “You could have been killed, Padawan, had it not been thanks to your quick wits. Siths are not to be taken lightly, especially one we know nothing about.” Qui-Gon looked uncharacteristically troubled, blue-eyes flashing with what seemed to be regret.

“There is plenty that we encounter everyday that could kill us, it’s not worth fretting over one more life-threatening scenario,” Obi-Wan gave his best reassuring smile, which seemed to help little.

Leaning back, Qui-Gon simply shook his head in a way that said, ‘you don’t understand, young one.’ The Jedi Master then pulled out his comm-link and grumbled something about needing to contact the Council about Obi-Wan’s encounter with the Sith and the status of their mission. Obi-Wan nodded mutely, glancing away.

It took about five minutes to connect to the Council, and when the transmission went through the blue-figure of Master Mace Windu beamed up from the comm. Qui-Gon’s posture straightened.

“Master Windu, our mission has concluded and we are on our way back to Coruscant,” Qui-Gon stated.

“Glad to hear it, were you able to intercept the meeting?”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes, Master, however we were only able to part with half exchanged material, due to some unfortunate… complications.” Obi-Wan winced when his Master glanced over to him at the last word.

“Elaborate,” Windu requested, narrowing his eyes.

With a deep inhale, Qui-Gon said rather bluntly, “My Padawan had a run in with what he believes to be a Sith, one we have not heard of before.”

Even with the blue warping Windu’s appearance significantly, Obi-Wan could still see the shock that spread across his face. “That is… Disturbing news, I will inform the other Council members immediately. Is that all, Qui-Gon?”

Nodding once more, stiffly, Qui-Gon said, “Yes, Master.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters to tend to. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you.”

The holo-Windu faded away and the Master-Padawan sat perfectly still for quite some time, both with worry-lines maring their faces. Eventually, Qui-Gon rose from his seat and moved over to the control panel of their fighter. The man punched a few directions into the panel, announcing to Obi-Wan, “We’ll reach Coruscant in three days time, I suggest you take the time to rest while you can.”

So rest he did.

* * *

When Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon arrived back on Coruscant, they were immediately ushered into the Council’s meeting room, much to Obi-Wan’s demise. Though he knew it couldn’t be avoided, for there were important matters to be discussed.

The Council demanded information regarding the supposed new Sith, which Obi-Wan did his best to accurately account for. He explained the stranger’s lightsaber, the red color it had, how the man was practically drenched in darkness with no spot of light. He went through the exact development of their engagement, describing the Sith’s fighting style (his clavicle burned at the mention of the wound)--adding that the Force was disturbingly strong with him.

And after his recountment of the events, all in all, the Jedi Masters agreed that the antagonist was indeed a Sith and that they had to keep a watchful eye for him. Like with all Sith, they also set future plans to pursue him and attempt to… expunge the darkness he brought to the Force.

Obi-Wan, for one, was quite relieved to hear the Council was taking this case seriously. Because, it was in his belief that the Sith would not take too kindly to having been bested by him. If he was being honest, he’d admit that he was more than a bit intimidated by the idea of a Sith seeking revenge. It was likely that in the near future he’d be pursued by the dark-sider, but now that he had the rest of the Jedi’s support, there was a little bit less to worry about, certainly.

However, once they left the Council, Qui-Gon approached him with a strange expression and searched Obi-Wan’s eyes deeply. He’d gripped the Padawan’s shoulder gingerly, squeezing it reassuringly. He murmured something about being open to speak about the encounter, or offer advice if Obi-Wan found himself needing it. Grateful, Obi-Wan had thanked his Master and assured him that it would not come to that.

It wouldn’t, he insisted, he claimed that he was not so shaken by a mere run-in with a Sith. He wasn’t. Obi-Wan would treat the Sith like any other enemy, just with more regard in terms of combat.

With a doubtful look and a heavy sigh, they’d said their simple goodbyes and parted--Obi-Wan towards their room and Qui-Gon towards some other place, the gardens or otherwise. He suspected his Master would not return for some time.

* * *

Upon reaching his chambers, Obi-Wan practically flopped down onto his bed like a dead fish. He rested his head on the plush pillow, let it consume his skull, and stifled a conflicted groan into it.

Okay, perhaps he lied to his Master.

Three days later of relatively laid-back space-travel, a generous amount of meditation, and a Council debriefing, and he still couldn’t find peace residing within his soul. On the fighter he’d attempted to find harmony through the Force, welcomed it to wash over him like a blanket, but it had been to no avail. No matter what corner of his mind he ran to, he could recall the heavy weight of what the dark-side had felt like bearing down on him--it didn’t help that his clavicle still burned from where the Sith blade had marked him.

Whenever Obi-Wan let his eyes slip shut, the Sith he’d encountered on Cantonica materialized in his mind. He could visualize the man’s dark cloak, his black battle-armor, and ominous mask. He could almost hear his modified voice. To say it was disturbing was an understatement.

It was like the Sith had poisoned his mind, like he’d somehow managed to inject his presence into Obi-Wan and assured that he was never without the thought of him. It felt like a threat, even though Obi-Wan knew there was no other Force-mark even close to passing his shields.

He squeezed his eyes closed and there was the Sith’s face again, sneering back at him.

With a groan, Obi-Wan rolled over onto his back and stared up at his ceiling.

Meditation, that’s right, he just needed to conduct more meditation. The sessions he had done on the ship had simply not been enough, but he could do better anyways. With time, this would fade away and he would find peace in the Force once more.

But for now, he just wanted to lie still and let his muscles relax. The mission hadn’t been a strenuous one, but it evidently had quite the mental toll on him which resulted in stiffness of the body. He deserved a nice, long rest.

Obi-Wan settled into a position he deemed comfortable and released a satisfied sigh. That was more like it, perhaps he’d stay here till came night fall. 

However, not a moment later, his comm-link stirred to life. In his exhausted state, he felt tempted to ignore it and bother with it later, but his more logical side urged him to put his own needs aside. Ultimately, it was his left-side of the brain that won the argument.

Reaching blindly into his robe’s pockets, he pulled out the silver disk and clicked the button which connected the communication link. He propped himself up against the headboard of his bed, to assure his respectable reputation was maintained.

The face that greeted him was not one he had been expecting. His eyes widened.

“Senator! What a pleasant surprise, it isn’t everyday I get a call from you,” Obi-Wan’s chest suddenly felt a whole lot lighter and a smile cracked on his face.

Padmé returned the smile with her own. “Which I regret, just for the record. It’s been too long Obi-Wan.” Her expression shifted to mirthful, as she reprimanded, “Also, how many times must I remind you to call me Padmé?”

“Too many times, forgive me, _Padmé_.” The senator was a sight for sore eyes, if Obi-Wan had ever seen one; her sheer presence and appearance was enough to ease the tension from his shoulders and make him forget about his exhaustion. 

Her smile only grew, however, it was not primarily joy that swirled in her soft brown eyes. “I just wish we weren’t speaking under pressing circumstances.”

“Pressing circumstances?” Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side, confused. “I’m not sure I’m aware of what you speak of.”

A look of realization dawned upon her face, and she laughed uneasily. “That’s right, you must’ve been on a mission when it happened.”

Becoming ever more bewildered and worried, Obi-Wan pressed, “What happened, exactly? Are you alright?” He’d been paying attention to the holo-net, surely if something terrible had occurred he would’ve heard about it.

“I’m perfectly fine, however, I can’t say the same for my handmaiden.” Padmé winced, posture deflating significantly; her voice was tinged with sorrow. “Oh Obi-Wan, it’s terrible. A bounty hunter attempted an assasination--no, don’t give me that look, _I’m_ still alive--and murdered my stand-in. There’s actually been a few threats recently, but none have resulted in death till now…”

Obi-Wan’s heart sank; that was terrible news. He knew how deeply Padmé cared for her handmaidens, how she hated using them in case she was the target of assasination--she must’ve felt awful. “I’m sorry, that sounds very trying… but I have to admit I’m relieved it wasn’t you who passed.”

The senator scoffed lightly, “One life is not greater than another, you know that.”

He tried for a slim smile, “Yes, but you’re still one of my most treasured companions.”

Padmé at least seemed touched by that, but she paused and took a long intake of breath. When she spoke again, there was an added weight to her words, “They want to assign me a bodyguard, Obi-Wan. Someone to protect me, because apparently I’m incapable of looking after myself.” Her expression was very sour. “Chancellor Palpatine has assigned his own most trusted guard to my side, one I’m adverse to, but the Jedi Order also wants to offer their assistance.”

Obi-Wan’s interest piped--he had an inkling as to where she was going with this.

“I have refused every Jedi they’ve thrown at me, but now they’ve thrown your name in too.”

There it was.

“Oh Obi they’re relentless, I don’t think I can get out of this one. So if you wouldn’t mind… I’d rather it be you then anyone else.” She looked ashamed, guilty to request such a thing from him. How ridiculous it was of her to wear such an expression.

A smile warmed his face and his eyes softened. “I would be honored to serve at your side, Padmé. After all, what else is an almost-Jedi Knight-but-not friend good for?” As if he could say no, it would be his own shame to turn down her request. Besides, anything was better than settling for another mission involving negotiations, and assuring her safety was honorable.

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that,” though it was quite evident, by the relief that shone on her face. “I’ll inform the Council that I’ve accepted you as a bodyguard, and I suppose I’ll see you soon?”

“The sooner the better,” Obi-Wan said gently. “It really has been too long.”

“It has, I’ll await your arrival anxiously and try to tolerate this exhausting guard in the meantime.”

“Until then, take care Padmé.”

“You too, Obi-Wan.”

When Obi-Wan disconnected from the comm, he found that fatigue no longer plagued his mind.

* * *

One lecturing Master later and a small case packed with robes, Obi-Wan was being shipped off to the beautiful planet of Naboo. 

It had been a quick departure, rushed since the Council was concerned about Padmé’s safety greatly, but Obi-Wan had no complaints to voice. Because, as it was, although Padmé despised needing help, he was glad to be offering it and was happy to defend her against all odds.

The journey had been a fine length, one not nearly as long as Cantonica--the ride over smooth. It’d been a bit quiet without the company his Master usually provided, but a solo mission was a solo mission and he was beyond ready to take them on.

He had landed near the palace of Naboo, was welcomed with open arms by one of the guards, and had been promptly escorted inside. Per usual, the interior was lovely and relatively peaceful, despite the obvious apprehension stitched onto every guard’s face who all appeared to be on high alert, though calm at the same time. They were probably worried about the recent assasination.

Alongside his escort, they made twists and turns, went up a few flights of stairs, all while chattering about the current politics and the state of Naboo. Ultimately, they ended up in what looked to be a modest-sized meeting room.

Once inside, the guard excused himself, and requested for him to wait there until Padmé arrived. Obi-Wan complied wordlessly. He took the time to look around the room, to admire anything he could from the decor to the sunset shining just outside the balcony attached to the room.

Ten minutes passed.

At the eleven minute mark, he gradually heard hushed voices speaking outside in the hallway and the approach of footsteps in his general direction. Obi-Wan perked up and lightly focused his attention on those voices out of curiosity, finely attuning their words with the Force.

He could identify one of the speakers as Padmé, while the other he was unfamiliar with the other, but seemed to belong to a young man.

“--I just don’t understand,” the masculine voice said. “Why do we need the help of a _Jedi_ when we’ve got all the help we need here?”

Obi-Wan quirked a brow, offended yet intrigued; he listened closely.

“I told you Anakin, it was not my decision to make, the Jedi Council insisted I have Jedi protection.” A pause. “Besides, I trust Obi-Wan, he’s one of my oldest friends.”

He tried to ignore the way his heart felt elevated at Padmé’s statement, but grinned smugly nonetheless.

The man scoffed, “Jedi don’t have friends, they’re forbidden from attachment. He probably just sees this as another one of his responsibilities.”

This time, Obi-Wan was offended. His grin all but vanished and he felt a cold stab of dread. He wanted to defend himself, scold the young man, but knew he couldn’t give away the fact that he was peeping in on their conversation or truly disapprove of the stranger’s words. In a way, the man was right, damn him.

“Don’t you dare say that! You have no idea what Obi-Wan’s like, he’s not like the other Jedi.”

“Whatever you say, m’lady, just don’t get upset when he pushes you away.”

Their footsteps stopped in front of the meeting room Obi-Wan occupied and their voices grew even softer.

“You better be respectful towards him, Anakin.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Padmé sighed exasperatedly and suddenly the doors swung wide open. Obi-Wan straightened his back and offered the politest fake-smile he could muster. The couple eyed him oddly, or at least the stranger did, but the tenseness didn’t last for very long, for in a matter of seconds Obi-Wan was getting an arm-full of Padmé.

Taken aback, Obi-Wan spluttered at the unexpected contact and was hesitant to wrap his arms around the Senator’s slim figure. Though once he did so, he found himself content with the comfort the hug gave him and tightened his hold.

Burying his face into the woman’s curls of brown, he whispered, “I missed you, Senator.”

Huffing, Padmé too gripped him with more vigor. “If you really missed me, you’d call me by my name.”

Obi-Wan chuckled and released her slowly, “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“So it seems,” her voice sounded considerably more light than it had mere moments ago, when she had been with the other man… Who stood rather stiffly near the door and glared daggers through Obi-Wan’s head.

A familiar bout of rage echoed through the Force.

Narrowing his eyes, Obi-Wan carefully slipped away from his position in front of Padmé and towards the supposed upset stranger. He offered a docile hand and a clipped smile.

“You must be the highly esteemed guard Padmé has told me about, my name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.” His hand was left hanging more than what was appropriate, but the man eventually took it rather harshly and shook it. His grip was kriffing _steel_.

“Obi-Wan, it’s an honor to finally meet a Jedi,” the man said his name with a disturbing amount of venom. “Anakin Skywalker, I am usually Chancellor Palpatine’s right hand, but he generously offered me up to assist Padmé.”

When the man--Anakin--didn’t release his hand in a fair amount of time, Obi-Wan gently extracted his ligament. “Generous indeed, your skills must be impressive, to be the Chancellor’s right hand man.”

“Hardly any greater than a Jedi’s.” For some reason, Obi-Wan got the impression that Anakin didn’t truly think that.

“Oh you’re too humble.”

“Sure.”

Padmé cautiously walked over to the two of them, who had yet to break eye contact. They were staring deeply into each other’s eyes, as if trying to read the other’s mind, which technically wasn’t wrong. Obi-Wan _was_ trying to figure the man out, pick up on any sort of negative energy he had been so foolish to reveal. Anakin’s hostility was unnerving, in a very unusual way.

“Right then…” Padmé trailed off, coming to stand between them, placing a hand on Anakin’s chest. “Why don’t we get going and discuss the circumstances Obi-Wan will work under.”

Anakin ignored the young woman’s hand and pushed past her to pier down at Obi-Wan. He hated the way he had to crane his neck up to meet the other’s gaze.

“Why don’t you go ahead m’lady, I think I’d like to give the Padawan a little tour of the place.”

“That would be highly unnecessary, I’ve been here plenty of times--”

“No, I _insist_.”

Obi-Wan had to repeat the Jedi code to himself, chanting _there is no passion, only serenity_ in his mind.

“Anakin, if Obi-Wan doesn’t want a tour, I think we should respect his wishes,” Padmé interjected, looking all very pained with their exchange. Perhaps she was beginning to regret asking Obi-Wan to come.

However, the challenge burning in Anakin’s eyes, staring him down like he was less than what he was, sparked a bit of fire in his soul. Sometimes, in the correct situations, passion was allowed in small quantities.

“It’s quite alright, Padmé,” Obi-Wan gave the Senator a kind-eyed smile, radiating warmth; her expression softened. “I changed my mind. I think it’s a good opportunity for me to get better acquainted with Anakin, here.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, I was just thinking the same.” Sure.

“Well,” Padmé murmured, searching Obi-Wan’s face for any sign of reluctance, he hoped she found none. “Make it quick, you two are supposed to be staying by my side anyways.”

“Certainly, I’ll make it very quick.”

The grin Anakin flashed Obi-Wan was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
> I'm so sorry for the delay! I've honestly had a bunch of ideas pop into my mind at once, and I've just been writing them lmao. But you guy's comments are so kind! They really motivated me to write more, so thank you so much for the support. Y'all seriously are the best :,)
> 
> Also keep an eye out for another story, I'm hoping to post another one soon (ihaveimpulsecontrolissues)

**Author's Note:**

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> ⠀⠀┊ ┊ ┊  
> ⠀⠀┊ ┊ ✫  
> ⠀⠀┊ ⊹ ⋆  
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> Thanks so much for reading! I spent time re-reading and re-editing this chapter for days, I even changed the tense from present to past cause it just reads a whole lot better.
> 
> Also, sorry that this chapter isn’t the most exciting, it’s really just the introduction to the whole story. The next one will be much more thrilling, I assure you that!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos down below, it really motivates me to keep on writing. Bookmarks are very much appreciated too!


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